What If
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Gibbs reflects on a moment during his marriage to Shannon when he thought tragedy was an abstract, absurd notion. Shannon/Gibbs, little mentions of Kelly!


_A/N: My new inspiration/favorite thing to experiment with is Shannon/Gibbs. It's heart breaking, but sometimes I like to make it feel like we can capture the happiness for a while, and I like that. This isn't a particularly happy one-erm, it was inspired by Pet Sematary (Stephen King)-but it was something I just had to get on the page in order to continue other projects. _

_I don't think this is particularly good, but Gibbs is hard to write in "Shannon Situations"._

* * *

He had been dead to the world since he called it an early night at ten o'clock, and when the dulcet, annoying blaring of his alarm woke him at four thirty, sharp, the next morning he groaned and slammed his fist down on the snooze button, swearing under his breath about what a bitch being on duty at six a.m was.

He rolled over, rubbed his face harshly, blinked up at the ceiling, and then reached lazily across the bed with obnoxious intentions. When his sleepy hand did _not_ find a sleeping wife to tickle, he frowned and looked over to Shannon's side of the bed.

Empty.

He rested his palm on the sheets.

Cold.

Gibbs sat up and pushed the covers off, perturbed. She'd stayed up much later than him last night—he'd heard her collapse against the pillows after midnight and felt curl up to his back after an hour of restlessness at one. If she was up this early, something was probably bothering her—_or_ something was wrong with Kelly—and he was immediately consumed with worry. Tired as he'd been this past week, it was still rare for her to slip out of bed without waking him.

He slept about as heavily as a feather.

Discovering Shannon's absence woke him up sufficiently, and he turned off the alarm, got up, and stalked out of the bedroom in search of her, prowling quietly through the halls. He opened Kelly's bedroom door and checked on her; she was a cute little heap under her blankets, illuminated by a huge pony night-light, and he smiled, shutting her door without a sound.

He walked into the kitchen cautiously, still looking for Shannon, and paused when he saw the fresh coffee brewing. Something was definitely up with that woman. The last thing he expected Shannon do be doing at four in the morning was either making him coffee or drinking it. He turned around abruptly to check the back porch for her and found himself suddenly face-to-face with her wide blue eyes.

In a rare turn of events, he jumped, completely startled, and took a step back, his eyes melting into a glare. She gave him a wry, tired smile, proud of herself for scaring him, and reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Boo," she said.

She was pale, and there were goose bumps on her arms and shoulders.

"Where have you been?" Gibbs demanded.

"The basement," she answered, slipping past him. She opened a cupboard and got out a mug. He heard her fiddling with the coffee maker, and then the unmistakable sound of coffee splashing into a cup. He frowned, and pivoted to look at her as she poured him a cup of joe.

"All night?" he asked.

She turned, blowing on the cup, and shook her head vaguely. Her eyes flicked down to his feet and she gave him a look, puckering her lips mockingly.

"Why were you sleeping in socks?"

"My feet were cold," he answered defensively, glancing down.

"Uh-huh," she muttered. "Why're they pulled up to your knees, Jethro?" she asked, patronizing. She shook her head, an eyebrow raised, and laughed at him.

"It's stylish," he deadpanned, sticking his leg out in a ridiculous pose. Shannon laughed again, holding out the mug for him.

"Here," she offered.

"Shannon, it's freezing," he noted, taking the coffee cup. He looked reprovingly at her sleeveless top and panties. She shrugged. He gave her a suspicious look as he tasted the coffee. "Why are you up?" he asked.

She waved her hand nonchalantly.

"I couldn't sleep," she answered evasively.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes skeptically and drank a few mouthfuls of steaming coffee, letting the bitter brew wake him up a bit more. He licked his lips and walked to the counter, setting down the mug and facing her. He crossed his arms and glared at her insistently, waiting.

She gave him an annoyed look, pissed about the tell-me-everything glare on his face, and pushed her hair back. She sighed.

"I'm going to get a few hours in before Kelly gets up," she muttered, starting past him.

Gibbs reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing as she tried to escape. She paused, not looking at him.

"Shannon," he said.

"Gibbs, it's _nothing_," she said tersely.

"Shannon," he said again, gently. "What's wrong."

It wasn't a question, though. It was a statement that was undemanding. He just genuinely wanted to know. She sighed again, and stepped back, standing closer to him. She leaned her hip against the counter and chewed on her bottom lip.

"I just had a thought last night," she began, and then paused tensely. "I was doing the dishes, and Kelly kissed me goodnight before you tucked her in, and I just suddenly had this feeling that I'd never see her again."

Gibbs stared at her, still holding her hand tightly. He let his fingers move over hers, caught off guard a second time this morning by her—this time, by what she'd said, not by her physically sneaking up on him.

She met his eyes and flinched.

"Why?" he asked helplessly.

"I can't explain it," she answered hoarsely. "It was surreal, like this moment of darkness. As if some shroud surrounded her. I couldn't move. It was over in a split second but, Jethro," she shook her head stiffly. "Jethro, it was _awful_."

He could imagine. The thought of never seeing Kelly again—he was more accustomed to that feeling than Shannon could ever know. He'd felt it before Kelly had even been born, when he'd been deployed, and he'd been terrified that he might never see her at all.

Gibbs straightened up and tugged her towards him, touching her face gently. She looked up at him, her jaw set tightly—clearly trying to hold back tears.

"What brought it on?" he asked, struggling to understand.

Yesterday had been a normal day, full of the same hectic amusement that came with having a rambunctious three-year-old, they'd even had time to play outside a little after dinner—it hadn't been too cold then.

She shrugged desperately, shaking her head.

"I—it felt unnaturally like a premonition," Shannon said bluntly. She bowed her head. "You remember Saturday," she whispered.

Saturday. He'd been helping Kelly ride her new tricycle. He swallowed, and nodded, slipping his other arm around her waist.

"That car came _so_ close to her Jethro," Shannon said hoarsely, her voice catching. "She fell, and it was fine, but what if—"

"What if, nothin', Shannon, I caught her," Gibbs interrupted curtly. Kelly had taken off down the driveway on her trike and had ignored her parents' orders to stop at the road. She'd been about to pedal right out in front of a pick-up truck when her wheel snagged on a loose rock and sent her flying; Gibbs had caught up to her in time to yank her onto her butt in the yard.

And then, against Shannon's wishes, he'd busted her butt and shouted at her just a little too loudly for disobeying—but he'd been _scared_.

"But what if you _hadn't_."

That's all Shannon said, and then she just looked at him, pale, and worried, and stressed out. What if the car had hit Kelly, she meant, and what if she'd died and they had to bury their only child. What if the unspeakable had to be spoken? What if Kelly wasn't fast asleep in her toddler bed right now, but instead six feet under?

"Shannon," he said gently, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug. He pressed his lips soothingly against her temple, holding her silently for a moment. "Kelly's fine," he murmured. "Nothin's gonna happen to Kelly, hon, trust me," he paused, and then drawled: "We had our bad luck when I almost got my ass killed in Cuba," he joked.

She hit him.

"That's not very funny," she said, but she laughed, and looked up at him, colour blooming back into her cheeks. She swallowed, and smiled again. "She's never scared me like she did on Saturday," she admitted in a small voice.

"I know."

"It's just that…for a split second, the possibility flashed before my eyes," Shannon admitted in a hushed voice, eyes wide. "And then again, when she kissed me last night, I understood what it would feel like if something happened to her, how sick I'd be, how broken. I—I'm prepared to lose you, Gibbs, I know the risks that come with your job, and I don't want to lose you, I love you, but if I did—I could live," she bit her lip. "Jethro, I can live without you. I can't live without her."

He grinned, and ran his hands through Shannon's tangled red hair.

"Kelly's pretty great," he agreed proudly. "'Specially since she looks like me," he added.

Shannon giggled and hit him in the shoulder. The sadness and fear was suddenly wiped from her eyes.

"Idiot," she called him, swiping under hear eyes. "I feel silly."

He shrugged.

"This is all Kelly's fault," he said seriously. "She makes you all crazy."

"She makes you crazy, too, you big softie," Shannon retorted, taking a sip of his coffee. She licked her lips and pushed her hair back. Gibbs grinned and took his cup from her, relieved he'd been able to comfort her and wipe those dark thoughts from her mind. It was a neuroticism he had to chase away from Shannon's tender mind sometimes, and it didn't bother him. He loved Shannon and he didn't give a damn if she was crazy—and if she could live without him, that was fine.

He was just going to keep it to himself that he couldn't live without her or Kelly, but it never really occurred to him that he might lose them.

He was the Marine. If anyone was going to go, it was he, and it soothed him to know that Shannon was strong enough to make it if she could have their little girl at her side.

* * *

It was one of those nights when insomnia had him firmly in its clutches, and even in the face of extreme exhaustion, he couldn't manage to sleep beyond a hazy, foggy half-dream sort of frustrated stupor. Seconds, minutes, and hours ticked by, and he was reminded of why he so rarely slept in his empty, King-sized bed. His troubled mind played tricks on him when he did and tonight was no exception; he struggled with memories and loss and what-ifs—

-_what ifs_.

Gibbs rolled over in bed, throwing his hand out desperately, and his heart constricted and his throat locked up when he came up with nothing, when he felt the cold emptiness he knew would be there but always hoped was just part of a horrid nightmare.

He stared hollowly at Shannon's side of the bed, and thought of the empty bed down the hall where Kelly hadn't slept for more than a decade now.

When he'd comforted Shannon that night, years and years ago, he'd thought her fear was absurd, her _what if_ unnecessarily pessimistic. He soothed her, loved her, and moved on, because tragedies like this—like cancer and death and sadness—were always an abstract until they happened.

Bad things happened to families, but they weren't supposed to happen to _his_ family.

It did happen to his family.

And all he had left was a painful, suffocating _what if_.

* * *

_-Alexandra_


End file.
